


Vinny in limbo

by youcouldmakealife



Series: Vinny gets a life [25]
Category: Original Work
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-15
Updated: 2015-12-15
Packaged: 2018-05-06 21:06:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,047
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5430806
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/youcouldmakealife/pseuds/youcouldmakealife
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“He’s just mad I’m your favourite,” Anton says. </p>
<p>Normally Thomas would say something like ‘not if you keep it up’, but everything feels fragile right now, like if Thomas says the wrong thing, even joking, Anton will take it seriously.</p>
<p>“It’s not nice to rub it in, though,” Thomas says instead, and Anton grins wide enough to show his teeth, nudges Thomas’ foot under the table.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Vinny in limbo

Things are a little awkward before they head out for the game, but nowhere near as bad as Thomas worried they’d be. Thomas makes lunch. They don’t talk much, during it, which isn’t weird, really, Anton’s not exactly the chattiest, but usually it’s comfortable, companionable. This feels like they’re both trying not to say things, keeping the peace. Thomas knows it’s his fault, but he doesn’t know how to fix it.

“You broke up with Amanda?” Thomas asks, quietly, when Anton pushes his chair back, about to leave the table. He didn’t say anything at the time, really, but he hasn’t stopped thinking about it since.

“It was pretty mutual,” Anton says. “You feeling guilty or something?”

Thomas shrugs a shoulder. Guilty. Relieved. Guilty that he feels relieved.

“Sorry,” Anton says. 

“Not your fault,” Thomas says, still quiet.

“No, I mean, for letting you think it was about you,” Anton says. “It wasn’t, really.”

Considering Anton literally sent Thomas a text offering to break up with her if Thomas wanted him to, Thomas has his doubts, but it’s not like Thomas knows what was going on in that relationship. It’s not like Sandro, whose crush on Sylvie Thomas was well aware of long before they became a thing, and who ended up asking her out during a taping Thomas was doing with him. Thomas has known what’s going on there, more or less, every step of the way. It’s not like Meg, who keeps him updated and vents when Eric’s pissed her off, or even Fourns and Chloe, who have long past been on their best behaviour around him and will bicker like kids, which made him feel awkward at first, but now just makes him laugh. Thomas doesn’t even know what Amanda looks like, let alone what her relationship with Anton was like.

“Okay,” Thomas says, because he doesn’t want to argue. “You want more, or should I pack up the leftovers?”

“I’m good,” Anton says, and Thomas goes to put the rest of the pasta in the fridge.

*

Before they need to head out for the game Thomas packs a bag, slings it over his shoulder. He stops two steps in, holding it in his hands, wondering if that’s less noticeable, then decides he’s being stupid, because Anton’s going to notice it regardless, especially once he remembers to grab an extra suit.

Anton does notice, Thomas can see him notice, but he doesn’t say anything, which feels a bit like a peace offering.

“Driving in with me?” Anton asks.

“Yeah,” Thomas says. There’s no point taking two cars. He can go back with Carms if the offer to stay over’s still open, if not, he can head to one of the hotels near the Bell Centre. There’s no shortage of them.

The trip’s quiet, but it tends to be. Anton’s a serious driver, is fine with music and shit, but generally not so much with talking, finds it distracting. Thomas flips through stations until he finds a song Anton nods approvingly at, then leans back in his seat, rubbing a crease out of his suit pants.

“Whalers,” he says, finally.

“Those fuckers are going to eat it,” Anton says, vicious, and Thomas smiles down at his hands.

They win, but it’s close, goes all the way into a shootout. It’s not Connors’ fault: he played well. Not Anton’s, either. He was a bit off tonight, at least as far as Thomas could tell, but he still was the best part of their defence. Just a sputtering offence again, Lapointe’s line the only one rolling consistently, so even though they take it, the mood in the room isn’t as exuberant as it could be. There’ve been a lot of one goal games. If Thomas was in net for them, they’d be losses: it’s Connors keeping them in contention, their first line, their first D pair. They didn’t make a lot of moves, last summer, but Thomas doesn’t think that will be true of this one. If they bow out in the first round again, Thomas isn’t even confident Gagnon’s safe, let alone any of the roster, except for Anton, Serge, Lapointe, and Connors. And with Serge it’s just because the fans would throw a fit.

“You coming home with me?” Carms asks after the game. He waggles his brows obnoxiously, but he also waited until Anton went to shower, which Thomas is grateful for, whether he did it on purpose or not.

“Yeah, if it’s okay,” Thomas says.

“Obviously,” Sandro says, rolling his eyes. “I’ll wait while you do your goalie shit.”

Thomas finishes undressing, which is what he figures Carms meant, takes a quick shower so Sandro doesn’t have to wait long. Anton’s dressed but still at his stall, doing something on his phone, and Thomas thinks the bag was probably clear, but it isn’t like he should count on it.

“Hey,” Thomas says, walking over.

Anton looks up, then frowns. “You’re dripping on my shoes,” he says, and Thomas takes a step back, nearly twisting an ankle in his sandals. Anton grabs his arm in time to keep him from falling on his ass.

“Thanks,” Thomas says. “You can head out if you’re ready,” he says. 

Anton frowns deeper. “You hate hotels,” he says. “Just come back with me, we can figure shit out at home.”

“I’m not staying at a hotel,” Thomas says, a little tentative.

“Where—” Anton starts, and then stops when someone — Thomas doesn’t really need more than one guess — props his head on Thomas’ shoulder.

“Hurry up,” Sandro says, chin digging into Thomas’ shoulder when he speaks. “I already ordered dinner, we have to beat delivery back.”

Thomas didn’t think Anton could frown any deeper, but apparently he can. Thomas takes back every bit of gratitude he felt toward Sandro for waiting until Anton was in the shower, because clearly it was not on purpose.

*

It’s weird, missing Anton when he sees him basically every day. He doesn’t think he missed Anton when he was living on his own before, but then, they hung out outside of team times, and half the time they’d spend their free nights together. He missed Anton when they were living together toward the end, but that was different too. Right now it feels like Anton’s a coworker or something, and it sucks.

So he can’t even begin to describe how relieved he feels when Anton comes up to him after their next practice, nudging Thomas’ shoe with his own. It wasn’t mandatory, so Thomas usually wouldn’t have showed, but he feels weird hanging around in Sandro’s place if Sandro isn’t there, and, well. He missed Tony, and Tony never misses a practice.

“You want to grab lunch?” Anton asks. “Unless you’re like. Still mad at me.”

He grins when he says it, like it’s a joke, but Thomas doesn’t think it is one.

“I’m not mad at you,” Thomas argues. “Tony, come on.”

“Lunch, then?” Anton asks.

Thomas was supposed to go shopping with Sandro after practice, but it’s not urgent, and he doesn’t want Anton to keep thinking he’s mad at him. He stopped being mad the day they talked, but he thinks maybe Anton’s mad at him. Thomas can’t blame him, but he doesn’t have to like it.

“Gimme one sec,” Thomas says, and walks over to Sandro. “I’m going to grab lunch with Tony,” Thomas says. “I’ll meet you back at your place later and we can hit up the mall?”

Sandro makes a face.

“Stop it,” Thomas chides. “You guys make me feel like I’m in the middle of a divorce or something.”

“ _I’m_ the child of divorce,” Sandro argues. “You’re the awesome mom and he’s like. Mean dad.”

“Nice, Carms,” Thomas says. “I’ll see you later.”

“Mommy no,” Sandro cries after him. “You could do so much better than dad!”

Thomas gives him the finger without looking back, notices Anton giving him it too.

“Stop antagonising Petrov,” Serge yells without even looking up from his phone.

Anton only mentions Sandro once during lunch, which is probably him on his best behaviour, but Thomas was over their sniping years ago, and right now he feels like he’s in the middle of it. “So how disgusting is Carmen’s place?” Anton asks.

“Would you give it a rest,” Thomas groans.

“He said shit first,” Anton mutters, because apparently he still believes ‘he started it’ is a valid excuse. “Why’re you defending him?”

“I know you saw me give him the finger for that,” Thomas says.

Anton smiles a little. “He’s just mad I’m your favourite,” Anton says. 

Normally Thomas would say something like ‘not if you keep it up’, but everything feels fragile right now, like if Thomas says the wrong thing, even joking, Anton will take it seriously.

“It’s not nice to rub it in, though,” Thomas says instead, and Anton grins wide enough to show his teeth, nudges Thomas’ foot under the table.

*

Thomas doesn’t know if it’s a good thing or not that this is happening during technically the longest home stand of the season. Technically, because they go to Ottawa for one game, but it’s an afternoon one, so they head out in the morning and by the time bed rolls around they’re all back in Montreal — minus Lapointe, who got permission to stay over as long as he was back in time for mandatory practice — with another two points. 

On the one hand, he doesn’t have to spend the extended time with Tony necessary when they share a room on the road. Not that he doesn’t want to spend time with Anton, and they’re fine getting lunch and stuff, but he’s worried it’s going to be awkward if they’re sharing a room. Being in town also makes it easier to look at places, though his luck isn’t very good right now. There aren’t a lot of places available before next month, understandably, and when it comes to the places that are available immediately, well. Thomas can usually tell why.

On the other hand, Thomas is starting to feel like he’s taking advantage of Sandro’s hospitality. He’s tried to be helpful, to seem less like a burden, though Sandro keeps interrupting him when he’s trying to vacuum or wash the dishes. “Stop it,” Sandro says. “Honestly, right now it feels like my mom is staying here, you’re freaking me out.”

Thomas brings it up during breakfast, one he wakes up early to make. Sandro doesn’t complain when Thomas makes them food, so Thomas has been focusing on doing that. 

“I’m sorry this is taking so long,” Thomas says. “I’ve been looking for places with an immediate move in date, but there aren’t many, and—”

“Shut your whore mouth,” Sandro says.

Thomas frowns.

“Vin, I know Canadians are polite and shit, and you’re the politest and shittiest of the bunch,” Sandro says.

“Hey,” Thomas protests. 

“—but seriously, I wouldn’t have offered to let you stay if I didn’t want you to stay, buddy,” Sandro says. “Seriously. Guess what I’d do if Petrov asked.”

“Laugh in his face?” Thomas guesses.

Carms shoots him a thumbs up. “Politest, shittiest, smartest.”

“I don’t like the shittiest part of that,” Thomas says. “For the record.”

“Translation failure,” Sandro says with a grin.

“I really don’t think—”

“Désolé, je ne parle pas français,” Sandro says over him.

Thomas can’t help the wince.

“That bad?” Sandro asks.

“You’re getting better?” Thomas says. At least he’s trying. He’s just not sure how Sandro can speak French and _still_ have a Boston accent. 

“Sylvie winces just like that,” Sandro says. “Feeling the love from you guys.”

“I can make you cue cards,” Thomas offers.

“Please do not do that,” Sandro says.

“I can use fun colours,” Thomas says.

Sandro squints at him.

“Sharpies,” Thomas says. “I have them in like every colour. And I have pink and blue and orange cue cards.” They helped Meg through law school.

“Of course you do,” Sandro says, and leans over the counter to pat his head. He nearly falls off it, doing so. “You’re the best kindergarten teacher ever, Vinny.”

“What’s that make you?” Thomas asks.

“The best kindergartener ever, duh,” Sandro says.

“I’m going to go get the cue cards,” Thomas says, and Sandro groans, but doesn’t stop him.

**Author's Note:**

> This was almost called 'Vinny in the middle', so I am amused that technically 'Vinny in limbo' means the same thing.


End file.
